Winter V. Self Regained

Intro & Preface & Contents

Previous: Winter IV. London fog

Walking along the road after nightfall, I thought all at once of London streets, and, by a freak of mind, wished I were there. I saw the shining of shop-fronts, the yellow glistening of a wet pavement, the hurrying people, the cabs, the omnibuses -- and I wished I were amid it all.

What did it mean, but that I wished I were young again? Not seldom I have a sudden vision of a London street, perhaps the dreariest and ugliest, which for a moment gives me a feeling of home-sickness. Often it is the High Street of Islington, which I have not seen for a quarter of a century, at least; no thoroughfare in all London less attractive to the imagination, one would say; but I see myself walking there -- walking with the quick, light step of youth, and there, of course, is the charm. I see myself, after a long day of work and loneliness, setting forth from my lodging. For the weather I care nothing; rain, wind, fog -- what does it matter! The fresh air fills my lungs; my blood circles rapidly; I feel my muscles, and have a pleasure in the hardness of the stone I tread upon. Perhaps I have money in my pocket; I am going to the theatre, and afterwards, I shall treat myself to supper -- sausages and mashed potatoes, with a pint of foaming ale. The gusto with which I look forward to each and every enjoyment!... Late at night, I shall walk all the way back to Islington, most likely singing as I go. Not because I am happy -- nay, I am anything but that; but my age is something and twenty; I am strong and well.

...Human creatures have a marvellous power of adapting themselves to necessity. Were I, even now, thrown back into squalid London, with no choice but to abide and work there -- should I not abide and work? Notwithstanding thoughts of the chemist’s shop, I suppose I should.

Alpha.

I know what Gissing is talking about here, but I don’t much feel it. The building of flats where I rented a room -- previously a bedroom, other people rented parlors and my neighbor had the kitchen and dining room -- over 35 years ago, when I first moved to town as a recent graduate, is within easy walking distance of where I live now. I’m not infrequently in the neighborhood and I see places I knew well then. There’s a pang of recognition, but the potential of youth is a mixed blessing, and I have to say I’m much happier now. If I were physically failing in some way, perhaps I would recall those days with more affection. As it is, most of the streets in that neighborhood have been overlaid with newer associations... more recent “me-s.” There are some things I would go back and take pictures of if I could. I would like to stop in at the long vanished German bakery where I would buy day-old bread or rolls -- and on special occasions perhaps a day-old desert. That cheap carbohydrate would be the foundation of my meals for days. Some suggestions I might make to my then self, which he would promptly ignore.

Old age.

One of the tropes of old age is that you start to read the obituaries. I think you have to have lived in a place your whole life (gone to school there) for this to really apply. In any case, I never look at the obituaries myself, but I do notice the age of famous people who die. And when they are younger than me I feel a tiny bit smug.

Next: Winter VI. Tea.